“He will have to—that’s all. He will learn how to take care of himself,” Lizzie assured her. Elizabeth Bennet was the mostpractical of the Bennet sisters. She saw a way through any dilemma by using common sense. Lizzie created order from chaos.
Jane arrived. She scanned the room from the doorway. Her sisters squealed when they saw her. Jane grinned and moved toward them, before her expression turned somber. It was wonderful to see her sisters, but she wished it were just for fun. Tall and willowy, Jane sashayed toward them. Her heels did not click on the linoleum because she glided over the floor like a dancer. She wore a wrap dress, and her chocolate-brown suede trench coat was open, the belt dangling from its loops. Her suede pumps matched the coat. Her blond hair fell in waves to the top of her shoulders.
“There they are!” Kitty entered the room behind Jane and pointed.
“Oh, Kitty, were you working in the garage?” Mrs. Bennet made a face. Where Jane was chic, Kitty looked like a farmer fresh from the plow.
“I was pumpkin picking with the girls.” Kitty looked down at her muddy jeans and boots. Her hair was haphazardly pinned up with a series of small barrettes.
“Well, you make an excellent pumpkin picker,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Evidently, you had to dig for them.”
Mary, Lizzie, Kitty, and Jane looked at one another and laughed.
“I’m happy you find me amusing in my hour of despair,” Mrs. Bennet said, blowing her nose into her handkerchief.
Mary checked her phone. “Lydia won’t get here until the morning. She’s taking the train from DC.”
“Poor Lydia, living the peripatetic existence of an army wife. Do you think this country honors her sacrifice? I doubt it. She’s nothing but heart, my Lydia, and a cog in the wheel of American defense.”
“Her husband is a general. I don’t think they do cogs.”
“How many stars?” Mrs. Bennet asked.
Mary shot Lizzie a look. No one in the Bennet family could ever keep up with Lydia’s love life. They were always polite but didn’t get involved with her husbands. Lydia had more stepchildren over three marriages than Mrs. Bennet had grandchildren.
“Go ahead you two. Make faces. There is no title high enough for the husbands of my daughters,” Mrs. Bennet insisted.
“You have a soft spot for Lydia,” Lizzie said pleasantly. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s hard not to choose a favorite daughter.”
“I refuse! I love all my girls equally.”
Dr. Martinelli entered the waiting room. He was tall, his jet-black hair combed back. He smiled and approached the Bennet women.
“Mr. Bennet told me to look for the girl group,” the doctor said.
“That’s us.” Lizzie smiled and stood.
“Oh, Doctor, what is the news? How is my dear husband?”
“He is resting now. The tests showed us he has a blockage in his aorta. He’s in and out of A-fib.”
“I knew it!” Mrs. Bennet cried out. “A racing heart will kill him!”
“Luckily, your husband did not have a heart attack. This was a pre-episode. We’re going to continue our testing. He may need an ablation.”
“Surgery?” Mary asked.
“It’s the least invasive of invasive heart procedures.”
“Does that explain the fall?” Lizzie asked.
“It could. He may have been lightheaded, lying down, and then got up too suddenly.”
“When can we see him?” Mary wanted to know.
“He’s resting now, but you can go in any time you wish.”
MR. BENNET’S GIRLS MINUS ONE
